


Illicit

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alley Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, hints of unrequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:11:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But he wants to say something more, something that will make this seem more than what it is – an illicit and rather sordid coupling in a dingy alleyway with a man whose morals are questionable at best."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illicit

**Author's Note:**

> This is set before Moran enters into a sexual/romantic relationship with Moriarty.

    Gregson twists his face away, but only his face. His body remains pressed to the wall. “We cannot.” His breath clouds in the bitter air, but the man with him is so exquisitely warm against him.

     Moran nuzzles against the inspector’s throat, behind his jaw, below his ear. “Doesn’t mean we won’t.” He nips at Gregson’s earlobe, catching it between his teeth, not hard but hard enough to make Gregson gasp, before licking a trail down from beneath his ear to just above his collar, tasting salt.

     Gregson turns his face back towards Moran as the colonel looks up at him with an impish grin. “If anyone finds out-”

    “Are you plannin’ on tellin’ ‘em?” Moran pauses, peers at him intently, his hands stopping their movement temporarily. It’s the first time he’s gone still in some minutes. There is desire in his eyes, the pupils huge, making his blue eyes seem very dark.

    “Of course not.”

    “Well then.” And he’s moving again, hands roaming, questing, seeking out bare skin beneath all the layers of wool and cotton, behind all the buttons and braces.

    “God, I need…” Gregson shifts his hips, all the better to get Moran’s hand around his prick, the laws and rules and taboos be damned. His fingers dig tightly into the colonel’s back as those long, strong fingers of Moran's close around his shaft, squeezing gently. “I need...” He lets his own hand be guided towards the colonel’s cock, his fingers closing around it. So hot, he thinks. “ _Sebastian._ ”

    “Shhhh.” Moran quietens him with another kiss, rough and passionate, tongues meeting, teeth clicking together, kissing until they cannot breathe and they must cease. Still they stay there forehead to forehead, sharing breath, sharing body heat, while they stroke each other closer and closer to fruition.

    When they come, only seconds apart, Moran clamps his mouth over Gregson’s once more, silencing them both save for the slightest muffled moan that escapes from between the lips of one or perhaps both of them. Their release splashes onto the cobbles beneath their feet, both of them mindful even in this haze of desperate lust that they cannot leave any incriminating trace of their actions upon their clothing.

    “Toby,” Moran says at last, panting still, half-collapsing against Gregson, pinning him further back to the wall. He buries his face against the inspector’s neck momentarily, inhaling his scent.

    Gregson tentatively strokes Moran’s back through his clothing with one hand, feeling sated but very shaky, not trusting himself to speak or to try to move further yet. Only after a minute or two, when their breathing and pulses have slowed, does Moran pull back and begin to straighten his clothes.

    Gregson remains leaning back against the wall as he tucks himself back into his trousers and rebuttons them. “Well then,” he says.

    “Well then.” Moran smirks as he begins to roll himself a cigarette, flicking a sideways glance at the inspector that is filled with wry amusement.

    “I, er…”

    “You need not say any more, Tobias.”

    But he _wants_ to say something more, something that will make this seem more than what it is – an illicit and rather sordid coupling in a dingy alleyway with a man whose morals are questionable at best. Yet what is he meant to say? To express gratitude would seem absurd and condescending; to speak of love would be soppy and misleading, not to mention unwelcome.

    “Perhaps…” He clears his throat. “Perhaps… another time we might… seek out somewhere more comfortable?”

    Moran glances up at him, still with that sly smirk upon his lips, as he lights his cigarette. “Why’d you assume there’ll be another time?”

    “You don’t wish to…?”

   Moran shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

   Gregson can see nothing in his manner that does not speak of genuine indifference upon this matter. Colonel Moran has his dalliances and he has his priorities, and Inspector Gregson clearly belongs in the former rather than the latter category. Perhaps only that toff of a professor of his falls into that latter category for him.

   “Well…” Moran straightens his hat. “One way or another I s’pose I’ll be seein’ you around, Inspector. Until then.” He pops his cigarette into the corner of his mouth and he saunters away without so much as a backward glance.

   It is for the best, of course, thinks Gregson as he watches the colonel depart. Best for Moran not to linger, best for no-one else to know of his association with such a man. But, still…

    He remains in that alley for some minutes still leaning against the damp bricks even as gritty snow begins to spit down out of the leaden skies. He can feel the sweat upon his body, on his neck above his shirt collar, in the hollow of his back beneath his clothing, cooling in the chill night air. He feels very cold now after the burning heat of his exertions with the colonel. Time to head back inside then into the warm, to deal with the endless piles of paperwork that police work creates, and to put his mind to solving the myriad crimes that London presents him with day in, day out. The important things, the things that really matter.

   He heaves himself to a stand and walks sedately along the alley, hands shoved into his coat pockets to keep them from the cold, strolling away from the scene of his depravity. Only a faintly glistening stain on the stones remains to betray any sign of their sin and with the snowfall thickening by the instant even that will be gone soon enough, hidden beneath a dirty blanket of snow until it is washed away. Out of sight, out of mind, unlike, Gregson thinks as he walks on, a rueful smile crossing his lips, Colonel Sebastian Moran.


End file.
